


Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

by enigmaticagentscully



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: In which personal grooming choices are more important than you think, Abby is outraged, Marcus admits more than he should have, and everything is domestic as fuck. What impending apocalypse? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my OTP being cute.





	

It was getting late enough in the evening that Marcus had started to consider going to look for Abby when she returned to the room they now shared, closing the door behind her with a distracted air. He couldn’t help but feel a slight easing of tension at the sight of her – as an individual she was relatively safe in the Polis tower at the moment, especially since her skills as a doctor were invaluable, but he couldn’t help but worry when she had been out of his sight for the whole day. It couldn’t be helped, since even aside from Roan there were plenty of injured people from the recent crisis who needed attention still, and Abby was not one to ignore those in need. Marcus had his own duties as Skaikru’s representative, and so they had both had their hands full since Clarke and the others had left a few days ago.

Still, the moments they were apart were more than made up for by the time they had together. And it was more than just relief at seeing her safely returned that made his heart feel lighter as Abby smiled at him when she spotted him standing by the window.

“Hi,” she said, her voice soft, and a little roughened with tiredness. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I only just got in myself,” Marcus reassured her.

He watched as she made her away across the room to sit on the bed and start unlacing her shoes. A promising sign – that generally meant she wasn’t planning on going out again, and though the hour was late, he was pleased to have her to himself for what remained of the evening.

“How are things on your end?” he said.

“Same as ever,” said Abby, tugging off her second shoe and stowing both of them under the bed. “I checked in on Roan, and he’s healing as well as can be expected. For the rest...mostly I’m fighting a losing battle to infection. So many people had wounds that were untreated for so long because they couldn’t feel them.”

Marcus was pleased to realise that she was able to speak about such things with less visible hurt than she used to. There was a matter-of-fact manner about Abby when she was in doctor mode that allowed her to step away from the horror of what she had to do, and it was something Marcus almost envied sometimes. He knew she felt a deep sympathy for those hurt by ALIE, but she wouldn’t let her personal experiences overwhelm her when there were other people to be taken care of. It was the same strength that had kept her hands steady and her voice calm as she had bandaged the wounds through his own wrists in the aftermath, even though tears had slid down her face as she worked.

She was an extraordinary person, Abby Griffin. He had always thought so, but still she had the capacity to surprise him, even now.

Lost in this train of thought, Marcus was taken slightly off guard when Abby suddenly looked up at him with a penetrating expression. “By the way, did you mean what you said this morning?”

Years of her cornering him in hallways after Council meetings had obviously left their mark, because Marcus felt a jolt of pre-emptive guilt as his mind quickly reeled back through anything incriminating he might have said while still half asleep.

“About...?” he hedged.

“You mentioned you were thinking about losing your beard again.”

“Oh.” Well that wasn’t quite what he had expected. “I hadn’t really decided. It was just a thought.” He couldn’t even remember what had sparked it, what casual conversation had turned to the subject this morning as they lay in bed together. Of all the things they had talked about, he hadn’t expected that, of all things, to prey on Abby’s mind.

“I thought you liked it,” said Abby. “That it was easier not to have to bother with shaving every day.”

“Mmm, I suppose,” said Marcus vaguely, stroking his beard in an absent-minded way and trying to recall what it felt like not to have it. “I don’t know if I was seriously considering it, it was just...I don’t know, something about having a change.” He had been thinking, he remembered now, about his new role here in Polis, about all of them having a fresh start after ALIE. Although now he thought about it, the Grounder men of most clans seemed to be bearded, thought he wasn’t sure if that was an aesthetic or just a practical choice. He’d have to remember to ask Octavia.

Abby was still regarding him suspiciously, and Marcus couldn’t help but feel slightly amused. “I take it you disapprove of the idea?” he said. “I didn’t know it was so important to you. If I thought it would be weighing on your mind all day, I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Oh it isn’t of course, not really.” She got up from the bed and strolled over to him at the window, raising her hand to stroke his beard gently when she got close. “Shave if you want to, I won’t mind.”

“But you’d prefer if I didn’t?”

Abby smiled at his concern. “I promise I’ll still like you either way,” she said with mock seriousness. “But...I do _like_ your beard. I like the way it feels against my skin when you kiss me.” She emphasised her point by leaning up to kiss him briefly on the lips. “And besides,” she said, “I like that it’s different... _new_. Like us.” She let her hand trace the line of his jaw for a moment, fingers skating through the bristly salt-and-pepper hair. “ _My_ Marcus has a beard,” she murmured.

Marcus let his eyes close for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her touch. “You make a compelling argument,” he said, although in all honesty he would have agreed to just about _anything_ to hear her call him ‘my Marcus’ again. Not that he would ever admit that. Abby had far too much power over him as it was; sometimes all she had to do was look up at him with her soft, dark eyes and his resistance would simply melt away in seconds.

He opened his own eyes again as Abby padded back across the room, pulling her hair out of its tie as she went and combing her fingers absently through it. She deposited the tie carefully into one of her boots – presumably for safekeeping – and turned back to him with an appraising look.

“How would you feel if I cut my hair?” she said, still fiddling with the ends as she spoke.

“You’re serious?”

Abby made a non-committal noise. “It only just occurred to me now actually. But it _would_ probably be more practical to have it shorter, down here on the ground. Would that bother you?”

“Of course not,” replied Marcus, who could hardly have said otherwise without being a tremendous hypocrite even if the idea _had_ bothered him. “It’s _your_ hair.”

That being said, it was rather lovely hair. He felt a small pang of regret at the thought of losing the sight of the soft, honey-brown waves of it spread out on the pillow every morning, tumbling over the bare skin of Abby’s shoulders.

“You could just start wearing it in a braid again,” he said absently. “I liked your braid.”

“What?”

“Hmm? Oh, the...you know, you used to wear your hair in a braid over your shoulder?”

“You liked that?” said Abby, and it was difficult to tell from her voice whether she was pleased or just surprised.

Marcus shrugged, regretting having mentioned it at all. The braid had been _before_ , up on the Ark, and there was something still almost taboo about that subject between them. He realised with hindsight that saying he liked the way Abby wore her hair back then was tantamount to admitting that he had given some thought to how she looked, that he had been...well, that he had been _attracted_ to her even then.

Which, of course, she must _know_. Abby being happily married and the two of them being so often at each other’s throats hadn’t made Marcus blind to the fact that she was a strikingly beautiful woman. He had known her for his entire life, and could hardly have failed to notice. Still, it was easier for the both of them to keep up the unspoken pretence that he had harboured absolutely no feelings for her beyond the strictly professional, at least until they came to the ground.

“If you do decide to cut your hair, just don’t ask me to help you,” he said, trying to change the subject. “My mother said I was terrible at it.”

“Your mother let you cut your hair?” said Abby.

“Only once, believe me.”

“Well I always thought I was pretty good at cutting Clarke’s when she was little, but I think beards are outside my area of expertise,” said Abby. “I’m handy with a scalpel though, so I could give it a go.”

“And with that, you’ve successfully put me off,” said Marcus. “The beard stays.”

“Spoilsport,” said Abby.

There was a pause.

“You really liked the braid?” she said suddenly.

“I like _you_ ,” said Marcus, trying to work out what answer would get him in the least trouble, and sticking firmly to the present tense, just in case. “The braid is incidental. It was cute.”

 “ _Cute?_ ” Abby put her hands on her hips and glared at him, an effect somewhat spoilt by the fact that she was now clearly trying not to smile. “Did you just say you used to think I was _cute?_ ”

Marcus raised his eyebrows and Abby gasped theatrically, crossing the room back to him and jabbing an accusing finger a few inches from his face. “My god, you _still_ think I’m cute, don’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” said Marcus, allowing himself a smile and relieved at the safer turn to the conversation. “Sorry.”

“Well, so much for respecting your former Chancellor,” said Abby.

“I can respect you and think you’re cute,” protested Marcus mildly. He grinned. “I can respect you and think you’re _adorable_.”

“I am _not_ adorable.”

“You’re like a tiny angry hurricane,” continued Marcus, satisfied that she was amused rather than insulted, and now trying quite hard not to laugh at the look on her face as he spoke. “I could pick you up and put you in my pocket.”

“You could _try_.” Abby was laughing now too. “I’m really not that small, Marcus. Just because I’m not a giant like you.”

“You should stay on my good side Abby; you might need something from a high shelf one day.”

“Stop it!” Abby swatted him playfully but he caught her hand and pulled her to him, wrapping his spare arm around her waist to draw her close. Abby draped her arms around his neck and raised up onto her toes to kiss him, quite effectively shutting him up.

When they parted, their heads resting together as their breath mingled in the space between them, Abby muttered: “Have you always been this annoying?”

“I’ve actually been holding back until now,” said Marcus. “You’d be amazed.”

“Well then you’re lucky you’re cute as well.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” said Abby happily. “You’re cute when you smile. And you’re cute when you’re worried about something and trying not to show it. And you’re cute when you speak Trigedasleng.”

"Apparently my accent is terrible."

"Your beard is cute too."

Marcus couldn’t help but let out a very undignified bark of laughter at this, and kissed her soundly again, unable to help himself. There was a part of him that still wondered, when he had Abby in his arms like this, at how he would ever manage to get _anything_ else done now that he knew what this felt like – how it felt to hold her, to _kiss_ her. Now that he knew the soft, lovely little sounds of pleasure she made when he brushed his lips against her skin, now that he knew how _good_ it felt to have her hands running through his hair and her body flush against his.

“You know, I really _do_ mean it as a compliment,” he murmured, in between pressing light, delicate kisses against her lips.

“Mmm, I know,” whispered Abby. She gave a faint moan as his hands found their way under her shirt to rest on the warm, smooth skin of her back, and pressed closer to him, sliding her hands down his chest as the kiss deepened...

Someone knocked on the door.

They broke apart with near identical noises of frustration, but remained, both a little breathless, in each other’s arms, unwilling to break the embrace.

“Damn,” muttered Abby.

“Maybe if we ignore them they’ll go away,” said Marcus, only half joking. Abby’s skin was very soft under his hands. His thumbs traced little circles gently across her back as they listened intently.

“Do you think it’s for you or for me?” said Abby quietly, her fingers idly twining through his hair in a very distracting way.

“Could be both of us,” said Marcus. A few more seconds of promising silence went by before he gave into temptation and nudged her head aside to press a kiss against her neck. Abby let out a soft hum of pleasure as he brushed his lips against her throbbing pulse. Her fingers tightened in his hair.

The knocking repeated, louder and more insistent.

Abby swore vehemently under her breath. “ _One_ evening,” she moaned. “Just _one_ evening of uninterrupted...”

 “Ambassador?” called a voice through the door. “King Roan requests your presence as a matter of urgency.”

Marcus sighed. “I’ll be right there!” he called, and released Abby from his arms. “I should go,” he said regretfully, more as a matter of form than anything. Of course they both knew he could hardly ignore that kind of summons, however much he might have wanted to right at this moment.

“I swear if Roan doesn’t get himself killed in the next few days, I’m going to end up murdering him myself,” muttered Abby.

Marcus chuckled, ignoring the renewed bout of knocking on the door.  “Well, there is one silver lining to this whole situation,” he said.

“What’s that?” sighed Abby.

Marcus leant down and pressed a quick, light kiss on her forehead. “You’re very cute when you’re frustrated,” he said.

Abby made an incoherent noise of outrage as he turned and finally went to answer the door. The Azgeda guard on the other side was frozen with his hand raised, but his expression of annoyance changed to bemusement at the wide grin on the face of the Skaikru Ambassador who greeted him.

“King Roan—” he started to say, but Marcus waved a hand vaguely.

“I know, I heard,” he said. “Let’s go.”

As he closed the door behind him, he distinctly heard Abby call out: “This isn’t over, Kane!” and only felt his smile widen at the laughter in her voice.

 It took Marcus most of the journey to the throne room to school his face into something suitably solemn and Ambassadorial for his meeting with Roan. He only hoped no-one was going to ask him to give the King a haircut.


End file.
